How Good It Feels To Be Bad
by solairu
Summary: "The Lorax takes the Once-ler through time to stop his power-drunk future self, the 'Greed-ler.' The Greed-ler isn't pleased at their arrival - but like any good businessman, he makes the best of what's presented to him." Greed-ler/Once-ler, dubcon, nsfw
1. Prologue

**Prologue**

You tried; truly, you did.  
To find a world apart from this one.  
And you succeeded, certainly.  
But this was never how you imagined it.

Maybe this whole venture was doomed from the start.  
And, by seeking out something good,  
You were struggling against fate itself.  
Against the nightmare that was to be your existence.

You only wish that you could have known, at the time,  
That everything would soon be okay.  
That you _needed_ it, even, to become who you're meant to be.  
That you would _love_ what you'd become.

And you would be your own undoing, in truth.  
But only by falling so low could you ever rise so high.  
Too easily, you molded yourself into what you hated,  
Pressing until you'd forgotten the child you used to be.

And when a distant part of you whispers, that maybe you could stop the cycle,  
You crush mercilessly, as if an enemy, or your dear little pet.  
Because, even if the only shadow you'll never escape is your own,  
You'll always know how good it feels to be bad.


	2. And You Will Be Your Own Undoing

going to restate the nsfw part. warning for rape/dub-con & bondage, **please** do not read if these upset you  
id just like to apologize for this. this is my second fanfic, and the first time i've written something like this. P

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**And You Will Be Your Own Undoing**

You wake up to a painful throbbing in your head and groan, wondering what you possibly did yesterday to warrant this sort of ache. And then you realize that your eyes are open, but you can't see, even though you're lying on your back. You blink, and your eyelashes brush uncomfortably against something soft covering your eyes. You try to pull this soft thing away from your eyes, only to find that your arms are trapped underneath you by the very same thing. You tug at your binding, but whatever it is, it's tight.

As you struggle, fuzzy memories of the events leading up to your situation begin to surface. Lorax had come to you after another unsuccessful day of selling your thneed, shouting about factories and you breaking your promise. And then, with his strange nature magic, you were in the valley, but you could barely recognize it. The sky was filled with dark, heavy clouds, and the earth was dying and covered with stumps, only a few truffula trees dotting the hills. You looked around in horror, grasping for words and unable to find anything. Lorax only nodded at you sadly.

"But… but how? What…"

The Lorax pointed a fur-covered finger in the direction of a large cluster of buildings, the source of the clamor and smog drowning the land. "The one that did this can't hear the trees' cry; I only hoped you might give it a try."

You followed Lorax to this city, through bustling, smoky streets up to the largest building of all. All the while, a horrible nagging feeling pulled at you, asking you what could have possibly happened to the valley to lead to this.

You shoved open towering doors and he raced inside through your feet. Bickering immediately spouted up, and you stepped past the doors to find the Lorax standing up to a couple of bulky-looking – _wait those are your brothers_. Your mind was jammed somewhere between 'what are they doing here' and 'when did they start looking terrifying?'

One of them reaches menacingly for Lorax, and you're about to step in when a sharp voice cuts through Lorax's shouting. "Our usual guest, is it?"

Your brothers stepped aside then, and a man dressed in a green suit strode in, and this guy looked just like you and your thoughts pretty much shut down at that point.

His eyes were obscured by some silly-looking goggles, but he grinned discomfortingly and you could tell he was looking at you. "My, my. Boys, our guests look awfully tired, wouldn't you agree? Help them off to sleep, why don't you."

And Brett had moved in on you, and before you could act, he had a grip on you and there was pain and darkness.

And now, from what you could tell, you're being held hostage by some terrible version of yourself. You groan again, trying hopelessly to tug your bonds loose, dreading your situation more with every passing moment.

You hear the creak of a door and you freeze, praying it isn't _him_, that maybe Lorax got free and came to find you. Your hopes are shattered with a chilling snicker and the sound of footsteps approaching you.

"You aren't still asleep, are you, Oncie?" It was your voice but darker, filled with a venom you'd never thought possible.

There's no way you're going to give anything away. You hate everything about this situation and _just kidding about that first part_ because you feel gloved fingers trail up your chest. You squirm as far away from his touch as possible, and _wait where the fuck is your shirt._

He laughs again, and your stomach lurches. You thrash violently, but he's quick to pin you down to _this is a bed oh god there is no way this is happening to you._ Your legs aren't bound – _thank god there are pants on those at least_ – and you try to kick at him. Even if you had managed to land a blow, it wouldn't matter, because he sits himself firmly on your crotch.

Through gritting teeth, you growl, "Get. _Off. _Me."

"I'm afraid I can't do that, Oncie dear." His grip eases from your shoulders, one set of leather-clad fingers tracing lightly down your stomach while the other slid up your neck. You scowl, thinking of all the things you'd do to this monstrous specter of yourself if he weren't so good at tying knots.

_He chuckles softly, right next to your ear, and you nearly jump out of your skin. "The_ thneed is truly a great thing, don't you think?" _This bastard is using your own invention against you, fuck, you can't even believe this is happening._ "Someday you'll see it too, just like everyone else has, how wonderful our creation is."

You jolt then, because you suddenly understand – what it was that happened to the valley, and why Lorax brought _you_ with him to stop it. "We're… no, _you're _the one that ruined everything. _You broke our promise._"

The feeling of his tongue on your neck makes you start again. You try to pull away, but you can't move far, and the moistness easily follows you, dominating the tender flesh below your jaw. "That silly orange _thing_ is a _fraud_," he murmurs against your throat. You tense painfully when sharp teeth press against your skin, grazing down your neck, and it's everything you can do not to shudder. "You're too naïve to see it, but he's holding you back from what you're meant to be."

His hand, all the while, strays further south, and it's becoming more and more difficult to remember why you need to – _no, you know what you saw, you can't let this man get away with it. _Fingers dance across the sensitive area above your dick, and even with a couple of layers of fabric to protect you, this is all getting to be too much.

"He doesn't want you to know what it means to have power," he whispers, nibbling on the skin between your neck and your shoulder, the fingers from his other hand tangling themselves in your hair. "To know the feeling of _control._" Too quickly, he yanks your head back and he bites down, _hard. _His palm grinds against your growing arousal, and you're powerless to stop the moan that rips from your throat. He growls in approval, licking up what is probably blood from his bite. You hate him, and you hate how good this feels, and you do your best to tell him.

"Good," he growls, his teeth sinking into the flesh below your ear. His palming at your crotch doesn't let up, and your disgust for yourself builds as you reflexively buck against his touch. He snickers at you, and apparently your mouth was hanging open, because his tongue snakes against yours before you can process any kissing. You jerk away, but the hand that was just in your hair is gripping your face tightly.

Whimpering, you allow him to take your lip between his teeth, sucking and scraping to the point of pain. His tongue brushes the soreness before slipping back to your own, pulling you into a dance that you'd lost the will to resist.

You're nearly choking by the time his lips release yours, leaving you to pant heavily while he turns his attention to your chest. His pointed tips of his gloves run down your side and you arch up, straight into waiting lips. His tongue dances over your skin, and you grind against his hand, the sensations blurring together, and you can feel yourself getting close.

_And he's fucking gone. _You swear, groaning in frustration as you squirm against your binds. You burn where he was only moment ago, and how desperately you need that back still disgusts you. You can hear shuffling somewhere nearby, and you grit your teeth. He's teasing you, but there's no way you'll give him the satisfaction of hearing you beg.

You're convinced he'd forgotten about you when you feel the bed dip by your legs. Shadows of gloved touches ghost down your chest, and you tremble as his fingers trace along the waistband of your pants. Way too slowly, you feel him tugging the zipper down, with too much glancing contact and not enough _taking them off_. His fingers hook underneath the garment and yank it off in one swift tug, boxers and all. You gasp as your arousal is finally freed from its restraints. Before you can start to be relieved, he slips his hand under you and flips you onto your stomach.

You frown, about to ask what he's doing, but it becomes much clearer to you when he straddles your hips. You whimper and turn to bury your face in the bed, but pointed, leathery fingers against your lips stop you. He runs them up your lips and back down, and you let him do what he wants until he sighs and presses them into your mouth by force. _Oh._

Shaking, you open your mouth wider. He shoves a couple in, nearly to the knuckle, and you choke in surprise. He only pulls back a bit; the pointed fingertips of his other hand dig sharply into your back, and you yelp, running your tongue over his fingers. You're helpless to do anything but obey, and hope for release.

His fingers press further into your mouth, and you resist the urge to gag again. Instead, you continue to lick at any available surface, and you don't stop when a third finger slips in. He finally pulls them out, chuckling as you try to hide your burning face, stifle your heavy breathing. "Still hate me?"

You groan quietly, trying to ignore him in favor of his touches, his moistened hand brushing over your ass, while the other lifted your hips off the mattress. His fingers prod in between the cheeks, nudging at your hole, and _oh god there is no way this will end well, that's not what it's used for, why is this happening to you._

A leathery appendage presses past the ring of muscle, and you squirm in discomfort, wishing this could just be over. He shoves it in to the knuckle and you sob brokenly at the sudden burning. He's poking and stretching and scratching everywhere, and oh god why did you ever think this could end well.

He leans over you, tongue running up the back of your neck, oddly tender, but all you feel is the scratchy discomfort of his suit against your back and arms. Another finger slips in, but there's already so much pain that you don't even notice.

His sudden grip on your length makes you shudder, gasping lightly. His fingers are still moving in your ass, but his slow stroking takes the edge off. You feel a third, but only for a moment before he yanks them out, dropping you and leaving you on the bed for the second time. "Fuck," you sob, sore and hot and wondering if he might spare you all this if you begged for death.

You hear a snap, and a squelching noise, and his fingers are back at your entrance, this time wet and icy. You yelp when he shoves them in this time, the cold moistness more uncomfortable than anything else. His strokes are slower this time, pressing in as far as he can, probing mercilessly before slipping back. His other hand is teases the skin above your cock, touching just about everything that isn't what you need. You buck into his hand desperately, and in the act you rock back against him, and your vision swims with colors.

When you remember where you are, he's thrusting his fingers into that spot, his teeth sunk deep into your shoulder. You moan unabashed, pressing back into him, the line between pain and pleasure blurred beyond recognition. Fingertips graze your chest, sometimes delicate, sometimes clawing deep into your skin.

You don't last much longer before you come, rasping out a sound between a moan and a scream. He holds you up against him for a few moments longer; if you weren't already a shaking mess, you would be trembling at his low, growling laugh, deep enough that you can _feel it_ against you.

A loud, brief ringing rips you from whatever terrified glow you were in. He sighs above you, pulling his fingers out of you and dropping you in your mess. You grimace, listening as he leapt off the bed, moving across the room. You hear the scuffing of fabric, and more pacing, before he finally says, "Sorry, Oncie, gotta run." You want to scream in frustration, to punch that sweet, poisonous inflection right out of his voice. Your throat, dry and raspy, reduces you to some pathetic, inaudible plea.

"Don't worry, I won't forget about you while I'm gone," he hums, his words filled with promises that you don't want to think about. A door slams and his footsteps fade to nothing, and your body and mind collapse into broken, gasping sobs.


	3. You Molded Yourself Into What You Hate

this part really isn't much for oncest, just a lot of emotions.

don't read if abuse upsets you

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**You Mold Yourself Into What You Hate**

You aren't sure how long you've been here, by now. You can't imagine it's been more than a day. Ever since your other self had his way with you, you've been drifting in and out of consciousness. You find no solace in either, only an oppressive darkness and silence. Somewhere in between, you are deafened by despairing sobs and trapped by debasing caresses. You'd never be quite sure which were tricks played by your mind, and you'd never want to find out.

When you wake this time, you open your eyes to a dimly-lit room and gasp in surprise. You grasp about frantically for something stable; he wouldn't take you off-guard this time. The thick bedspread tangles itself around your legs in the commotion, and you send yourself tumbling off the bed. You swear into a face-full of blanket, thrashing your way out of the plush cocoon. You glance around quickly, relief flooding over you when you realize that no one else was witness to that.

With a sigh, you take a moment to breathe and take stock of your situation. Your future self was gone – but he probably wasn't far. At some point he must have dressed you in these silky, green pajamas, which comes with all kinds of implications you don't want to think about. You move to stand, but a sharp ache in your hips pulls you straight back down, and oh god you're thinking about it. Memories of the sensations and emotions grip you, and there suddenly isn't enough air in the room. The little you manage to gulp down catches in your throat, suffocating you. You want to vomit, or to scream, but your body is frozen. You have to get out. _You have to get out._

The sound of a phone ringing dances on the fringe of your awareness, slowly dragging you back to reality. The ring is gone by now, replaced by a muffled voice, just like your own – no, it's his, it's _his_.

The little willpower you have left is used to stir you to your feet, slowly and carefully. You lean against the wall and limp your way to the bedroom door. Pressing your ear against the cool surface, you hear him speaking about thneed sales, and other things you don't understand. You frown, closing your eyes. Thneeds. All of this was about thneeds. If you'd never thought of those stupid things, none of this would have happened – turning the valley into a wasteland, Lorax coming to you for help, and… and….

If you ever see your time again, you'll burn the fucking thing and be done with it. Some silly garment isn't worth all this.

You hear an irritated groan from the other side of the door. "_Fine_, I'll head over. But if you don't have something good to show me, my time comes out of your salary."

The receiver clicks down loudly, and footsteps thump in your direction. The panic returns, squeezing the breath out of your lungs. The steps stop, dangerously close, and a horribly long silence hangs in the air. He hums quietly, almost wistfully, and then he's moving away, a slammed door following him. A shaky whimper escapes you.

You can't face him again. He's twisted, terrifying, and there is no way he could be you from any reality. And he's gone, but he could be back at any time and oh god you have to get _out of here_.

You ease the door open, looking out at the spacious room before you. A large, crescent desk fills the center of the room, backed by a tall, crimson chair. The walls are lined in emerald green, with drapes of the same burning red. You limp across the cold floor to stand by his desk, staring at his painstaking model city. It makes you sick. Everything here makes you sick, because it has his mark all over it, it's _his_, and the worst part is that _you're _his, too, and the air in here is so stagnant, it's smothering you.

Breathing shallow, you walk to the wall behind his desk to one of the windows. Glass panes stretch from the floor to the ceiling, and transparent doors lead out to a balcony. You're sure you'll suffocate before you even make it there.

Stuck to the glass by the handle is a note. Hands trembling, you unfold it and try to stop the letters from swimming across the page.

_Don't even bother, sweetie._  
_Where could you possibly go?_  
_It'll be easier for both of us if you just behave until I get back._

_-O_

By the time you realize what you're doing, scraps of paper are fluttering to the ground. Your blood pounds in your ears, and your fingers twitch impatiently.

_Where could you possibly go?_

Fake toy buildings sent crashing to the ground, plastic cracking under your fist. A sound like roaring water deafens you to any other noises. Your vision blurs in and out of focus.

You stand beside his bed, axe in hand, thoughts spinning dangerously away from you. You knew where to look for a weapon, of course. _You're him_. What's the point in denying such a painfully obviously fact? You think you laugh, but the noise of it is lost to you.

Red fabric tears easily under sharp metal, you find, and the wallpaper doesn't prove particularly resistant, either. Shreds of color spin around you, and you think they look much better that way.

Breaking glass rises above the din filling your ears. You step out onto the balcony, cold air surrounding you. You give the haphazardly strewn chair a look of apology. It served you well.

You walk out to the railing, observing the landscape before you. There's something strikingly, tragically beautiful in it, you think, albeit different than you remember. A stairway nearby catches your eye; you follow its snaking path, running down the side of the building to the bleak earth below. A walk sounds nice, right about now – your legs ache, probably with underuse.

You're about to go when you spot your brothers back inside. They look confused, so you wave to them, asking if they'd like to go for a stroll with you. They run back off through a set of doors, and you frown, following after them up to the doorway. A long, dark hallway stretches out past it, and the twins are nowhere in sight. You'll never get those two.

You blink and your fist is through _another_ window. It's almost ridiculous, how easily this seems to happen to you. You do your best to clean up, but you're probably just making it worse, getting red glass everywhere.

You feel eyes on you, and you turn to meet a strikingly familiar face, his wide grin somewhere between rage and amusement. You're aware of a renewed itching in your axe-hand. Mockingly, you mirror his expression.

His lips are moving, but you can't make out what he's saying for your life. You step closer to him, trying to hear him over all this damnable _noise_. He's a blur for a moment, but you feel him grip your wrist, and the ground is suddenly rushing up to meet you.

You're hovering on the brink of consciousness, everything fuzzy and warm. Something is tugging you away, and you try to ignore it, but it shakes you back into reality.

The first think you're aware of is a searing pain throughout your body; the second is a voice in your face. "If you drool on this shirt, I won't hesitate to toss you off the balcony, kid. This is my best white button-up."

Your eyes snap open to meet the disdainful glare of your older self. You're lying on the bed, his arm draped along your back and your head on his chest. The light of his laptop bathes everything in a blue glow. You hadn't had the chance to see him this close; and maybe he was you, but there was something unfamiliar, _dangerous, _in those eyes.

Once the shock of _is he actually cuddling you, what the hell_ fades, you try to shove away from him. The slight pressure on your hands makes it feel like they're splitting open. You look at them to find that they're covered in bandages. Your legs and feet ache worse than your hands, and you don't even bother to check them as dread grips you.

"You aren't going anywhere – least of all in that state," he mutters, his fingers digging into your back. Definitely not cuddling, oh god, what did he do to you when you were asleep, there's no way you'll survive much more of –

"Are you honestly convinced this mess is _my_ fault?" Saying that out loud was probably the last thing you meant to do. You don't even care what happened that much; you just want him to leave you alone.

He bursts out laughing, the sharpness and sincerity in the sound startling. "You actually forgot, didn't you? You trashed my office, pulled me away from my meeting, and you can't even remember it! You're priceless, Oncie, you know that?"

You stare at him blankly. You recall waking up at some point, but – but _nothing _like that. He grins coldly at you, like this is some amazing joke that you haven't caught on to.

"You made a terrible mess in there. Glass and fabric everywhere." He pauses, his tone darkening. "I'd tell you to wipe that stupid look off your face and go look, but you won't get very far on those feet." Shit, you were making a _face_. You freeze, watching him closely, ready to bolt at any second. "Maybe I should make you do it anyway. Anybody that misbehaves like that deserves punishment." No, why should you even bother? If your legs hurt like your hands do, you really aren't going anywhere. "I'm really unhappy about what you did, Oncie."

He's on top of you before you know he's moving, shoving you onto your back. He brings his knee up between your legs, and the most embarrassing squeak escapes you. You clamp your hands over your mouth, but jerk them away quickly when the contact flares into pain.

His grin is all teeth and malice, and he grinds his leg slowly against you. Your mind reels, your nausea battling with your arousal. The pain and the fear from the day before seize you, but the desire you find mixed in is what eats at you. You try to steel your face to him, you really do; but you're fighting a losing battle, and both of you know it.

His hands are everywhere, touching and scratching and unbuttoning. You want to move, to run, but his eyes have you frozen in place. He speaks to you though them, telling you of all the things he plans to do to you, all the things you'll _let_ him do. Icy fingers trace the back of your neck as he tells you how there's nowhere to run, not in this world owned by him. And he tells you that even if there was a place, you wouldn't be able to do it.

You nearly believe him.

"What's wrong, sweetie?" he murmurs, his voice coated in syrup but oozing with venom. He leans in to press your foreheads together with a smirk. You try to tear your eyes from him but your body stopped responding a while ago. "There's no need to cry. It's only me."

…_He's only you._

His words snap something in you out of place – or perhaps back in. You writhe against him, and he watches you with smug satisfaction. That quickly changes when you shove him away, wincing at the sting but needing him as far away as possible.

His face twists up in fury, and he catches your wrists in a crushing grip. "I'm not playing this game with you again, you little shit." You scowl at him, struggling to escape. His knee comes down on your gut and you gasp desperately for air, trying to roll away from him. Your arms slip free from his grasp and you move to slip away, but his hand on your throat shoves you roughly back down. You claw at his hand, and in return he sinks the nails of his other hand into your chest. A strangled cry rips from you; you lash out blindly, watching from another life as your fist connects squarely with his face.

You regret it immediately, watching his expression contort into something inhuman. "I'm sor –" you try, before his grip tightens. You choke, fighting for air as he slowly crushes your windpipe. Fingernails scrape mercilessly down your chest, your arms, anything he can reach, and you would be screaming if you could breathe. The world around you blurs, but whether it's from tears or lack of air, you can't tell.

The pressure behind his grip vanishes, and you swallow down air between sobs. A black shadow fills your swimming vision, and you feel his teeth clamp down on your neck, slicing through your skin easily. Tears and pitiful noises spill from you as he crushes your body under him, clawing and marking until you're numb to more pain. The look in his eyes is feral, beyond return; the final time you tried to stop him, you were sure you were going to die. As your awareness starts to slip away from you, that belief is the only thing left that you trust.

You can't guess how long it is before he pulls back to simply glare at you, as if suddenly irritated that you're there at all. He shoves you over. "At least bleed on _that_ side of the bed." He moves away from you, and in moments the drum of typing joins your quiet sobs.

Your body shakes uncontrollably. You've forgotten how to move, and you don't want to remember. You stare wide-eyed at the wall, watching it slowly spin away from you, praying for the darkness to swallow you whole.


	4. Interlude

hey guys! I'm really sorry about how I kinda stopped updating this for a really long time. I've had a lot of things going on in the past month, with grades and family and health... so this chapter is kinda an apology for making you all wait so long? and also to apologize because, although part 3 is a couple thousand words in progress, I don't know exactly when it will be up ; ;  
but I promise that I will definitely complete this whole work soon. I haven't forgotten about the lovely reviews and those of you who have subscribed to my fic. thank you all so much ;u;33  
anyway, here is a short little thing from Greed-ler's POV, a little while after the last part. sorry again... but, hope you enjoy!

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**Interlude**

The Once-ler slumps against his desk, letting his face rest on the cool wood. He can scarcely think with this headache; deciphering all this damn paperwork is completely out of the question. What the hell does he pay his staff for if all the petty legal work is left to him? Obviously, it's nothing worth keeping their useless asses around for.

He doesn't want to think about the person in the next room. But the boy has been a constant in his mind for weeks, and that isn't about to change. The estate's personnel is by now terrified of his obsessed frenzy – these days, he only sees them briefly before they shrink away into the shadows. All the better, really. He doesn't want to have a body on his hands because somebody discovers his Oncie – and, forbid, _scares_ the little thing.

As if he needs any help in _that_ area.

The Once-ler groans, sitting back in his chair and massaging his temples. No, last night hadn't been _that_ bad. He'd only made one of the stupidest fucking mistakes of his life. Admittedly, the other day hadn't gone as well as he'd hoped. He'd let himself get a bit out of hand – but that happens to everyone from time to time. And the kid pretty much evened the score after the number he did on the office. The staff had cleaned up fast, but he was still sore on the matter of a worthy replacement chair.

But then he _had _to go and lose his head when the kid resisted. Any chance he might have had at smoothing this whole mess over was surely long gone. When he'd gone to check on him overnight, Oncie wouldn't move; and now, his darling pet doesn't even want to _see_ him.

The Once-ler is angry, to say the least. He's angry at that pathetic reproduction of himself – for being so weak, and for turning the Once-ler's self-control to naught with his stupid-looking face.

But mostly, he's angry at himself. Because he's just as weak as that boy, losing himself over something that insignificant. He swore to himself that he'd take it easy on him. There's no excusing what he did.

So he'll do as Oncie asks. He can stay away from his room for a while, bar leaving the kid his meals. He has a whole fucking mansion to live in, and a leading corporation in need of biggering. The construction of Thneedville needs urging, and he can look into the recommendation to expand the product base.

He can wait. He'd waited for the device, and he'd waited for Oncie to come to him once. It'll be easy enough to do it again. His dear Oncie will see how much he needed him – it's only a matter of time.


End file.
